


Howl

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28275024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: He can't hide from you forever.
Relationships: Monster/Reader, werewolf/reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 130





	Howl

**Author's Note:**

> i know i've been missing for like *checks last fic* two months, but i've been super depressed!!!! a lot of shitty things have been happening in quick succession, and my work place sucks the very soul out of me. i've also been so strained psychologically that i just don't want to write anymore.
> 
> anyways if anyone has any fun suggestions for stories you can drop it in my tumblr inbox @cozycryptidcorner, here's to hoping something will spark the creative juice in my head.

The moon hangs heavy overhead, a pale, watchful face gazing down at the ritual laid out at her feet. You kneel, washed in her gentle light, your eyes on the fire as a clan elder carefully places an ingredient within a kettle. Crickets scream and wail in the surrounding woods, but you barely pay them any mind as your lover places a pale hand on your knee, rubbing a circle with his thumb as he bites at his lip. You try not to acknowledge his worrying much, if he hadn’t paid any attention to your reassurances earlier, he won’t now.

The potion that the elder boils down smells sickly sweet, like a peppermint cough syrup, but with a stinging bite that sends bright little pricks through your nostrils as you breathe it in. Already without drinking it, you can feel a vibrant thrumming begin to pulse in your blood, a spark of warmth filling your veins. It doesn’t take much longer for her to finish the spell, a soft humming emanating from your lover’s fellow clansman resounding as the elder pours it into a carved wooden chalice.

Then, with one last kiss, your lover stands, moving to the opposite side of the fire where the elder is and spits into the cup. The elder gives you the benefit of mixing the concoction further, singing in a familiar but incomprehensible language. Shivers run down your spine as she and her apprentice approach, their full ceremonial clothing jingling with their steps as they come to stand before you. In a sort of perversion of Catholic communion, the elder holds the chalice in your direction, and you gingerly grasp it as though it were made from impossibly thin glass.

You carefully ignore any sort of inhibitions you might have about the potion itself, drinking it down fast enough to not taste anything that might cause you to vomit it back up. With little respect, you carefully swallow the last gulp, trying to seal up your throat, so you’re not even tempted to give in to any sort of acid reflux, then allow yourself to breathe. At first, you don’t seem any different, but there’s a hard, boiling heat that suddenly wisps out from your stomach and right to your heart, and you think- you feel-

Your lover takes a step back into the forest, the shadows working to obscure him from your vision. Where- where is he going? Why was he leaving? You need him. With a flailing step, chalice dropping from your fingers and completely forgotten, you try to follow, but something fucking drags you back down to the ground. Pissed, you puff out hot, angry breathes, trying to wriggle your way out from the many people working to keep you from your lover, your mate, but it’s many against one, and they don’t let up.

Warm and soft soil cushions your shoulder and face as you fall violently forward, suddenly released, but you can’t fucking see him anymore and it’s killing you. Your heels dig into the earth as you wrench yourself up, choking back panicking tears as you bolt in the direction you saw him leave. The night sharpens as the world breathes in a deep inhale, the sky itself holding still in order to witness the carnal desperation you scream with.

You can smell him, his scent so much like the forest itself, of woodsmoke, of evergreen, a musky kind of fragrance that stands out in the acidic night air. And so you run towards it, faster than you’ve ever moved before in your life, ignoring the way the branches of the brush and trees scratch at your bare arms and the awkward sharpness of the ground as you ignore what your bare feet might be running over. An owl screams in the distance, but you are so keen on your prey that you ignore the call.

Instinct demands that you stop, so you do, skidding on the fallen leaves so sharply that your feet fly out from under you, landing on your hip hard enough to bruise. You feel no pain, only rancid frustration at the inconvenience gravity hinders you with, and you scramble back to a stand, growling with every breath. Where is he? Desperately trying to cling to your last strand of lucid sanity, you try to think, smelling the air once more, trying to find that same taste of male hormones that he had emanated so thickly before he fucking abandoned you.

You hear the water before you even realize you started moving again, a rush of wind caressing your face like the earth herself is aiding your hunt, as though she approves of this union. There, you can just make out the fading scent of your lover, though it grows fainter with every second wasted on thought. A brook runs its course, water slowly wearing millions of oddly shaped rocks down, several making for good stepping stones as you hop across, the splash of cold water managing to draw a bit of the feverish heat down.

Abruptly, you slow down, closing your eyes to smell and to listen. You think you have his direction, but the idea to ambush him as punishment for abandonment fills your body with the simmering ghost of pleasure. You go low immediately, staying close to the trunks of the trees as you quietly circle around the edge of a clearing. And you see him.

Everything inside your body goes full alert, sirens screaming in your head, heat filling your core, muscles tense. You bolt forward, so fast he doesn’t even have a moment to react before you’re on him, the force of your body ramming against him not only sufficient enough to knock him off his feet, but also enough to tip him over the edge of the hill he must have been thinking about going down.

The entire universe spins as you roll against him, grass, leaves, and twigs catching in your beaded embroidered dress, hair, even managing to knick at your skin. You don’t care, gods below you don’t, because as you slow to a stop at the bottom of the clearing, you have him beneath you, gasping for air, his dewy blue eyes glimmering beneath the stars as he regards you with a kind of emotion you don’t bother to process.

You kiss him so hard that your mouth hurts, teeth clacking together, and you’re thriving. Enraged growls snarl from your throat, and you would have ripped his clothes away if he didn’t painstakingly strip then and there. Touching his skin just barely aides in your desperately heated core from exploding, but there is so, so much more you want from him. You need to melt into him, to seep into every pore of his body, to claw his chest open and crawl inside, and he seems to take your furious affection in stride.

His skin is salty as you bite down in the crook of his shoulder, and by the way he keens at the pain, he seems to enjoy it. You press your teeth down closer to his neck if only to show him that he’s yours, and he won’t be running from you again. His hand rises to pet your hair back from your face when you finally deem him worthy of release. Even though you still see red after he tried to fucking abandon you, you’re not so angry that you don’t give those bite marks peppering kisses to make them better.

“I know,” he rasps, stroking the nape of your neck as you whine, “I know it hurts, I’m sorry I ran.”

You forgive him instantly, pressing your mouth and tongue against his in a desperate, heated kiss. Your lover knows immediately what to do, fingers reaching for the strings holding your ceremonial dress in place. It’s an easy thing to strip away, its sole purpose of being beautiful and easy to remove from heated bodies, and you are suddenly delightfully bare underneath the moon and stars. As you bend back down to ravage his chest and collarbone in a myriad of bites and kisses, you find with no small amount of delight that an erection begins to rise up against your thigh.

His hands press up gently to your breast, feeling you out as he has many times before, but you both would agree that this is… different. Better, even, despite the misery you feel because he’s not inside you yet. You kiss him again, gasping for breath on his mouth, as a hot, pinching need flitters through your body like the touch of a red-hot brand. That desire, that instinct swirling in your chest demands he must feel pleasure before you ride him like a goddamn stallion, so you are quick to get to work.

You begin to make a trail of purple and red hickies all along his stomach, sometimes biting hard enough for him to bruise just for the sensation of his flesh between your teeth. After a few moments of teasing him, you barely had the mind to do much more, you finally fall back to the pulsing member you crave so terribly. It takes you a few seconds to take it in, the contours and highlights curving along in the moonlight, long, thick, yours. After briefly contemplating where to start, you begin at the very tip.

He breathes out a shuddering gasp when you roll your tongue over the top of his cock, his fingers tangling in your hair. You feel a shuddering sense of satisfaction at his body’s response, then move down to the base. Up and down, you try to lick and kiss and give tiny sucks all across it as rhythmically and as pleasurably as you can, going deep and low just for the sake of watching him squirm pathetically. It doesn’t take him too long to be drawn to the edge, or perhaps it’s been an eternity, you don’t know, but he rides out his first orgasm in your mouth.

You come back up, mouth still lingering with the taste of his pleasure, and press your mouth against his in a lazier kiss. There’s a kind of mingling desperation boiling in your stomach, but the beast within you is satiated for a few moments at the sight of him becoming undone by your tongue. Your hand snakes back down to check on his steadily stiffening cock, just to see if he’s ready to take you yet. He still needs some more gentle teasing, so you settle down and offer up as many leisurely kisses as he needs to warm back up, while you’re just barely getting started.

He slides into you so effortlessly, your pussy is so wet that it engulfs him like a sheath specially made for him. And oh, god, or fuck, he feels so goddamn good that you start crying. Tears spring into your eyes, and he sits up to cradle you, whispering in your ear that you’re doing such a good job, that he’s so proud you’ve made it this far without cracking. That seasoned warriors do so much less, and you’re so fucking beautiful, wild, and unstoppable.

You suck in your breath, trying not to feel like you’re disappointing your lover, your mate at the show of such soft and fragile emotion, and you begin to grind. The feral need to be fucked slowly begins to disintegrate your sanity, what’s left of your lucidness drip, drip, dripping down into your core and burning into ash by the heat. You roll your neck around, gasping, whimpering, begging, screaming praises to him because he’s perfect, you’re mate is so fucking perfect, you want him inside you forever so you can spend eternity knowing this bliss.

And when your orgasm finally reaches its peak?

It feels like the sky itself shatters into a thousand pieces, raining down the stars, moon, and planets, your body almost evaporating into light as you cry out. Waves and rolls of fiercely bright pleasure curl through your body; you have to wrap yourself around your mate, or else you’re afraid you might break apart. He holds you, he whispers such sweet, soft things in your ears, coaching you through the orgasm to end all others, like he knows how perfect and majestic this one is.

You don’t even feel it when he cums, because the aftershocks are still clenching through your body as you try desperately to recover. He still remains strong, though, anchoring you to the earth as you almost sob with relief, even though he must be feeling that same kind of high you’re on. When it’s all over, he lays beside you, on the dewy grass that glitters in the moonlight, stroking your face until your fever finally breaks.

The next round of kisses are far more gentle and lovely than before, the unbearable hotness inside your core slowly evaporating away now that the spell ran its course. He holds you in his arms so tightly that you don’t think any force the earth mother can throw in your direction will break his grip.

“I love you,” he whispers, “so much. Thank you for experiencing this.”

“Is- is that what it’s like for you? Such madness, every time?” You ask, almost scared of the answer.

“Yes,” he confesses, “with you being the only thing on my mind.”

“That’s terrifying,” you whisper, stroking some of the pale hair from his eyes, “how do you manage?”

He gives you another kiss. “I have you.”


End file.
